The one where Wilson hides something
by 898700
Summary: Wilson has something to hide and House can't figure it out.  Hints at HouseWilson.  Contains OCs.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** The one where Wilson hides something 1/6  
**Author:** Jerico Cacaw  
**Fandom:** House MD  
**Characters:** Wilson, House, H/W -- Chase's POV

**Summary:** Wilson has something to hide and House can't figure it out.

**Notes:** For the **housefest** LJ community, the prompt is _**#31.**__ A patient knows something about Character A that s/he doesn't want anyone else to know. Character A will do all it takes to keep the patient from telling._

I first sketched an AU story, very scifi heavy -- but I won't finish that one in time. Instead, I have this other idea I'd been playing with for a while. Nothing mind-shattering, indeed ... but not fluffy! Or angsty (or so I hope)! So, this is the beginning. My intention was to write House's POV, but it wasn't working. I'm not sure if this works with Chase, either; I felt at times as if narrating a tennis match.

---

"You spent the night here."

Startled, Chase looked up from the article Cameron had asked him to read. House's comment had taken him by surprise -- not only because he had been lost in thought, trying to decide if he really was expected to deliver deep meaningful critique or not; but also due to the fact that he had absolutely no idea what his boss was talking about.

Thankfully, House wasn't addressing him -- a fact made obvious by the older doctor completely ignoring him while walking out of his office, his eyes completely focused on Dr. Wilson, and his tone one that announced more was being said that just the uttered words.

Whatever the message between the lines was, Chase didn't need to know. Normalcy had never been the rule when the two heads of department were together, but lately things had gotten weirder than they were on those first days of his fellowship.

"Yeah, it is a thing doctors do from time in time, you know," Wilson sipped at his coffee, looking at House over his cup's rim. "Oh wait, I forgot. That's what you have your underlings for."

"Among other things," House said, leering at Chase, who didn't even have time to look indignant before House's attention returned to the oncologist. "You didn't have a patient last night."

"The person I treated might differ," Wilson responded, a '_what are you playing at_' look in his face. "Either that, or I'm delusive."

"Always," House agreed, using his own cup for pointing purposes. "And you only make patients spend the night at the hospital when death or dying. At a comparatively faster speed than usual, that is," he clarified, his gestures letting the world know that he didn't believe Wilson's aforementioned patient could be included in such category.

Wilson's questioning gaze turned into one of realization. "I would ask why you are stalking me _and_ my patients, House, but I really don't want to know."

Neither did Chase, but he didn't say so. Maybe if he kept quiet the other two would take their conversation to House's office; that way he could still eavesdrop while being able to deny doing it.

House was, as usual, unfazed.

"Patient's name: John Doe. Admitted by one Doctor Jimmy Wilson, oncologist, yesterday at ten forty-five pm," he said, reading from a paper that had been scrunched in his shirt's pocket. "No age, no ailment, no treatment," he scanned the page before turning it into a ball and throwing it on Wilson's main direction, "and, according to this morning's rotations, no patient either."

"Ask Cuddy," Wilson cryptically declared, leaving his now empty cup by the sink. "Not that she'll tell you anything," he added as in afterthought.

"I'll just keep annoying her pet doctor; it's more fun," House stated, beaming at the prospect. "How many _real_ patients have you scheduled today?"

Wilson sighed. Chase rolled his eyes (discretely) and tried to keep his mind blank. He didn't want to get fired for comparing, even mentally, PPTH's most famous doctor to his neighbor's annoying teenage niece. And no, he didn't really believe House could read his mind.

Well, maybe only a little.

"There's no medical mystery, House, really."

Chase cringed at Wilson's words. Even having been around House for a shorter time than Wilson had, he knew that was exactly the wrong thing to say. Now there was no way House would let it go.

"Ah, but _there's_ a mystery," House established, as if to prove Chase's conclusions right. "Now, spit."

The man was now blocking the door, while the arm-crossed oncologist stood once again by the coffee machine. After doing what seemed to be seriously consideration of his options for almost a minute, Wilson finally shrugged, probably deciding that pissing off Cuddy was better than having House chewing his ankles all day.

"Lots of money, embarrassing situation," Wilson listed. And, obviously noticing how House seemed to be waiting for him to elaborate, he added: "you don't need to know more."

House's eyebrow showed what he thought of Wilson's summary.

"Cuddy would have hid the patient's file, not replaced it. At least, not unless being masterfully manipulated into believing that was the right thing to do." _Masterfully manipulated by Jimmy Wilson_, he didn't say, yet Chase could hear the unspoken words.

House moved closer to his opponent, never taking his eyes from him. Chase was surprised when Wilson didn't try to escape, now that the door was unguarded. But maybe the years of association with the man had taught him there was no easy way out -- or maybe these just were his '_House-management_' ways, as Foreman had taken to call them.

"There was no file, or entry, to replace," Wilson detailed. "It was a … mistake, if you wish … what brought my patient to the hospital. And of course I talked Cuddy into not writing down the incident," he admitted. "I do happen to care about my patients' welfare."

House opened his mouth to deliver a retort, closed it, glanced at Chase and frowned, evidently restraining from giving Wilson his desired response in front of a witness. Chase wondered if he should offer to cover his boss' clinic hours, despite the fact that Cameron was currently doing them.

The two men stared at each other, a communication of sorts taking place without words. House's frown got darker and Wilson weakly denied with his head, nervously taking a quick look in Chase's direction. Then House nodded, seemingly satisfied. At what, only the two of them could say.

"It was not about money," House attacked from a different angle, not ready to give up on the main topic.

"Tell that to Cuddy," Wilson promptly delivered, also ignoring the weird non-verbal dialogue that had just taken place.

"_You_ don't care about donations," House continued, paying no attention to Wilson's interruption. "Meaning, there's another reason why you want to keep this quiet, to begin with."

"My patient's needs --"

"You are an enabler, yes; but only when it suits you."

Okay, then. Chase really, really wanted to be somewhere else. Back in Australia, even -- but other floor would work nicely, too. He was used to witnessing confrontations between those two. Some of them (most of them) weren't actual disputes, only an exchange of biting words between sharp-edged minds equipped with finely honed tongues. Only a few of their confrontations were essentially sour, heated discussions.

This was none of the two, not as packed as it was with an intensity he couldn't put name to. He wondered if they still were aware of his presence.

Wilson broke the silence first. "I'm not saying more, House, no matter how much you push." And with that he moved to the door, slipping by House's side without being stopped and only pausing to pick up the discarded paper ball.

"I can have my cronies verifying your story with every single donor, you know," House declared, turning to face the departing doctor.

"I didn't say it was a hospital's sponsor," Wilson smiled, pausing at the conference room's entrance.

It was obvious that House wasn't happy with the other doctor's cherry demeanor. "You didn't say it wasn't, either," he retorted, although he didn't look very sure of his words.

Wilson shrugged, and with a single fluid motion he shot the paper ball cleanly into the waste bin. Then, a short nod given in Chase's direction, he left.

"And he scores," House mumbled, turning around and moving back into his office -- but then their eyes met and he paused for a second. The moment didn't last long, but Chase didn't need more to realize that House had forgotten about his presence, and that those last words were meant for no one to hear.

Alone again, Chase looked at the waste bin, realization slowly downing on him. Wilson was lying, successfully hiding something from House of all people … and even being smug about it. Either he was insane (clinically, not only theoretically anymore), or he has truly brave -- and insane, too. Chase shuddered at the mere idea of making House follow a trail by offering himself as bait.

He tried to remember every one of Wilson's words and gestures, wanting to know why he was so convinced of the man's deception. There wasn't an obvious telltale of his ruse, but somehow he knew House had been right since the beginning: Wilson wasn't being honest. What about, Chase couldn't say, but it was obviously related to the mentioned mystery non-patient.

He wondered if he should start making phone calls.

_To Be Continued_


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** The one where Wilson hides something 2/6  
**Author:** Jerico Cacaw  
**Fandom:** House MD  
**Characters:** Wilson, House, H/W -- Foreman's POV

**Summary:** Wilson has something to hide and House can't figure it out.

**Notes:** For the **housefest** LJ community, the prompt is _**#31.**__ A patient knows something about Character A that s/he doesn't want anyone else to know. Character A will do all it takes to keep the patient from telling._

This is the first time I use Foreman's POV, so my mind keeps going to greener pastures. I finally made myself write the damn thing, but alas, I'm not sure of the result.

---

"Eric!"

Foreman turned around. He recognized the voice, but wasn't used to hear it saying his first name. Wordlessly, he kept the elevator's door open until Cameron catch up with him and met his questioning gaze with a shrug.

"It worked, right? You wouldn't have stopped otherwise."

He snorted. Half of the hospital kept approaching him, prodding and freely giving their not requested opinions on his decision to continue his fellowship under House's. At the beginning he managed to politely avoid them, but the incessant attack had been wearing him down, making him decide that the wise thing to do was to stay away from the rest of the world, basically.

"Are you okay?"

He rolled his eyes, not looking at Cameron. "A couple dozens doctors, nurses and technicians thinking I'm an idiot is not enough to break me," he reported, walking out of the car as soon as the doors opened.

"You are not counting the patients and the administrative staff," she said, her heels click-clacking relentlessly as she did her best to keep up with him.

Foreman paused, looking back at her and sharing a self-deprecating smirk until she passed him, reaching the conference room's door first. He wondered, as he had many times now, if adopting House's cynicism really was the only way to deal with the man on a daily basis.

"Do we have a patient?" he heard Cameron ask.

Sitting at the table, Chase was searching through what looked like a list of names, most of them crossed in yellow marker. Foreman was thinking of inching closer in order to get a look, when a cane made the paper sheets fly from Chase's hands.

As expected, House was glowering from the other end of the cane. "It is not there," he almost barked, effectively preventing Chase's complain.

"What are we looking for?" Cameron inquired, picking up the closest sheet and reading it. Frowning, she addressed House, "Donors? How does this relate to our current patient?"

"We don't have a patient," Foreman informed, pointing her towards the whiteboard.

And really, it was obvious to anybody who knew House's _modus operandi_ as they did. No list of symptoms and possible causes plus no patient's file on the table meant not diagnostic was taking place.

"Then what are we --"

"_We_ are doing nothing," House interrupted her, stressing the first word. "Chase, on the other hand, is about to inform us that the missing patient is still missing."

Chase's sigh informed Foreman that a) he understood what House was talking about; and b) such information was a source of frustration for the fellow. Maybe Foreman could leave the room without being noticed, before House engaged him in whatever quest he had taken upon himself this time.

As if smelling indecision, House side-glanced at him, his eyebrow raising. No getting out of it, then.

"Is this in any way related to Wilson?" he asked, mentally checking his list of preventive measures to take in order to conserve some reputation.

The silence that followed was … _odd_, to say the best. House looked --if only for a second-- genuinely taken aback, while Cameron gaped as the proverbial fish out of the water. Chase, on the other hand, just cringed. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately.

But really, was there any other option? If the Diagnostics Department had no patient to treat, any scheme in House's mind could only be related to either Cuddy or Wilson -- or to both Cuddy _and_ Wilson. Or Stacy, but the lawyer wasn't around anymore, so she didn't count. Foreman just happened to score the right name on his first guess.

House recovered first. "Missing patient," he said again, still not bothering to explain. The markers, Foreman noticed, remained at their place.

"Most of PPTH's donors are in one way or another related to Dr. Wilson," Chase related, still picking up the sheets and almost crawling under the table in order to reach the last ones. "Only a small percent are also oncology patients, or friends and family of oncology patients, or had Dr. Wilson as primary physician. From those, all but eight are on remission --"

"And none of them was admitted last night," House finished for him.

"Not according to the records," Chase declared in a tone that made it clear he shared House's _Everybody Lies_ philosophy.

"Did somebody misplace a patient?" Cameron asked -- a question that, even if shared by Foreman, he didn't feel the need to ask out loud. As a fact, his personal favorite was more along the lines of _'Why should I care about this'_. It was a coincidence, really, that Cameron's next question sort of covered it. "Shouldn't Cuddy be the o--?"

"Cuddy is hiding him," House hastily interrupted, his face morphing into mocking curiosity. "Or her … or it, even. I'm still not sure if the subject was human. Anyway," he continued, as is breaking himself out of a daze, "a friend of a friend of a friend swears she said something about needing fresh blood to pay the monthly tribute."

Foreman rolled his eyes, House's insinuations about the Dean of Medicine joining previous ones and being promptly forgotten as all of House's ridiculous gossipy non-sense. "Let me get is straight," he said instead, mentally going over all what had been said. "There was a patient with unknown whereabouts. You couldn't get the charts, thus the unknown gender. He (or she) hasn't been released, or we'll not be looking for him (or her). And, because Cuddy is involved, there is no missing person report."

"Basically, yes," Chase provided, gesturing towards a wrinkled sheet on the table. "That's the beginning and the end of the paper trail, as far as I know," he explained, looking at House as if waiting for the man to add something.

Of course, House didn't.

"John Doe?" Foreman read the patient's name. This was starting to feel more and more like a bad TV show episode -- one with detectives, probably. He certainly didn't spent years in medicine school preparing for it.

"This goes against many of the hospital's regulations," Cameron informed, reading over his shoulder, her face a mixture of concern and contempt. "I doubt Dr. Cuddy is aware of this."

"I doubt anything like this could happen without her knowledge," Chase retorted.

Foreman wondered how much more the other fellow really knew.

"She didn't order you to stay away from this, did she?" he frowned at House. He wasn't sure an answer was needed --after all, they would end doing what House wanted, no matter Cuddy's admonitions-- but it would be helpful to know how fast they should run from the PPTH's Dean.

"Nope," House happily replied … way too happily, which either meant he was lying _and_ playing mind games, or he was telling the truth. An incomplete one, at least.

"You haven't talked to her."

House's only response to Foreman's statement was, of course, to look at him as if he had said something particularly stupid. And although most of his boss' face gestures tended to convey the same message, after being repeatedly introduced to the whole gallery, Foreman could rate the supposed level of stupidity assigned to each one of them.

This one ranked a two, so he let it pass without comment, retort, snort or eyes-rolling whatsoever.

"So …" Chase started, making clear he was waiting for instructions.

"Go look for what is not in the records," House ordered, then turned towards Cameron. "Call the patients and find if one of them was playing hide-and-seek in the hospital last night." Then, with a smile that should have made Foreman nervous, were he not used to seeing it: "and you are coming with me."

Cameron or Chase would have run to follow their boss, but Foreman already had an idea of what their destination was, and he really was not in a rush to reach it. Thus, he glanced back at the other fellows before moving out of the conference room. They were, as expected, complying with the orders given.

And House was, as expected as well, already in the Head of Oncology's office.

"Look at the desk drawer," House ordered as soon as he crossed the door, his eyes never leaving what had to be Wilson's briefcase, his fingers swiftly going over the combination lock.

"Which one?"

This time, the stare scored a four. "The _closed_ one; because, you know, people tend to believe that, when in need to hide something, the sensitive thing is to put it under key."

He had a point, as usual -- yet he was delightfully wrong as well.

"All the drawers are open."

Now, it was an odd day when House's logic failed. Sure, sometimes his first guesses were wrong -- but they were that exactly: guesses. This thing was something of a fact on House's universe, and it had just been completely smashed down.

It felt surprisingly nice.

Nonetheless, House recovered swiftly, the ghost of a smile (which Cameron would have probably called fond) slowly forming. "Clever," he said, closing the briefcase after ostensibly failing to find anything of value in it. "He's hiding things in plain sight."

"What are you doing here?"

Great, just what they needed. Foreman wasn't really worried about what Wilson thought of him -- after all, House had probably provided the man with enough outrageous tales that nothing he _actually_ did could make it worst. Yet Foreman had no desire to be dragged along into whatever quarrel both Heads of Department were currently engaged in.

House didn't even show remorse. "Why does everybody need to be stated the obvious?" he asked, looking at the ceiling and making clear he found the rest of the human race dense. "What does it looks like?"

"Like you are trashing my office searching for clues that aren't here," Wilson stated, trying to recover the files that a few moments ago were innocently laying over his desk, but were currently kept hostage on House's grip.

And then Wilson stumbled a bit, in the possession of the stock of files while being subjected to House's intense and more than slightly unnerving scrutiny. Following the usual script, this was the moment when a guess had to be delivered, probably related to Wilson's choice of a tie or something along the lines.

But House remained quiet, and his eyes kept roaming over Wilson('s face? hair? shirt?) before zooming out. That the other doctor didn't openly freak out only added to the enigma he already was on Foreman's mind. At least he looked a bit uncomfortable -- Foreman was never sure as to what their boundaries were.

"Why are you going through Wilson's personal stuff?" House suddenly chastised him, and Foreman was glad to notice he wasn't the only one to jump in surprise. "Sheesh, talking about being invasive," his boss continued, already at the door, barking his last orders without turning around. "Move!"

Foreman should have shrugged at Wilson, sharing a _'You know how he is'_ moment with the other man, but he didn't feel like it. And anyway, he was sure Wilson would appreciate more if he simply left. Maybe they could ignore the whole thing, as anybody around House did now and then.

"Where are we going to?"

This time his question was a valid one, and House's straight answer was a testament of it. "The showers," he provided, not slowing down a bit. Then, when they were already riding the elevator, he added as in reflection: "Call Bubbles and Buttercup, we need at least four participants to call it an orgy."

Foreman's mind paused only for a second, wondering if that made him Blossom.

---

House had been snooping around for a few minutes when the rest of the Diagnostics Department met them.

"That is Wilson's locker," Cameron said, and Foreman refrained to comment. He could always count with House to say the things he wouldn't.

"Really? I didn't know."

Foreman frowned, and so did his co-workers. House's retort, even while being the usual one, wasn't as chocked with the customary sarcasm they had come to expect.

Things weren't going according to plan in House Land, then.

From a safe distance, Foreman peeked inside the locker. There was no incriminating item to be found, only random toiletries, an empty hanger, a black sport bag (with a pair of tennis shoes inside, as House demonstrated) and some neatly folded clothes on the upper shelf. No hidden files or scrapes of paper, no magnetic storage units.

He exchanged a glance with Chase and Cameron --trying to decide whom would be the one to say something stupid first-- when House stopped his frantic search. His attention was now focused on the clothes, a pair of jeans and a grey sweatshirt. Wilson wouldn't be as stupid as to leave something on his pants pockets, would he? But House didn't reach for them, taking the shirt instead.

And sniffing it.

"Should I give you my car's keys, House? I think that's next on the list."

Wilson again -- and catching them red-handed, again. House, however, didn't seem to mind.

"Soothing shaken females, Jimmy?" he accused in a mocking tone, waving the shirt in front of everybody's face. "Unless you've changed your usual cologne for something fruitier, which you have not." He brought the gray fabric close to his nose one more time, and inhaled deeply. "Young and self-assured, I'd said; probably pretty. She doesn't go overboard on the sweet, and apparently has no qualms on hugging handsome oncologists for comfort."

Closing the distance to House's side, Wilson snatched the shirt from the other man's hand and thrown it into his locker before closing the door with a bang.

Then he _poked_ at House's chest.

"You'll find no answer on me, or in any document, object, person or location closely related to me. I don't care what you do with your free time as long as you, and your subordinates, stop messing with my work." His voice sounded almost dangerous, Foreman noticed, stunned by the man's sudden change of demeanor. Wilson noticed too, it seemed, as he took one step back and breathed deeply before continuing. "Unlike other doctors, I am too busy to disrupt my schedule every time a surgeon calls to inform certain _somebody_ is breaking into _my_ locker."

The drip-drip-drip of a faulty shower covered the fact that nobody seemed to know what to say after Wilson's rant, yet it did nothing to fix the awkward atmosphere that followed.

Until House whacked Wilson's shins with his cane and ran-limped on the exit's direction.

"Are you looking for this?" Wilson's voice called out, pain obvious in his voice.

Foreman, still frozen in his spot, turned to see the oncologist rubbing his wounded leg while displaying, between thumb and forefinger of his left hand, a bright piece of metal and plastic about the size of a young adult's nail.

"Shit," swore House, taking something out of his pocket and examining it.

It didn't take a genius to discover House had snatched Wilson's phone -- a useless move, as the SIM card was still in Wilson's possession.

It didn't take a genius either to realize House was absolutely pissed off when he got out of the shower room, leaving behind four doctors and a tattered cellular phone.

_To Be Continued_


	3. Chapter 3

**Title:** The one where Wilson hides something 3/6  
**Author:** Jerico Cacaw  
**Fandom:** House MD  
**Characters:** Wilson, House, H/W -- Cameron's POV

**Summary:** Wilson has something to hide and House can't figure it out.

**Notes:** For the **housefest** LJ community, the prompt is _**#31.**__ A patient knows something about Character A that s/he doesn't want anyone else to know. Character A will do all it takes to keep the patient from telling._

Cameron's turn! I think she had a lot to say: this is the longest chapter so far.

---

"Is this supposed to make him humble?"

Cameron looked at the Head of Oncology while his own eyes remained glued on the still spinning phone. Yes, it had skidded half across the room with one swift motion from House; but those things were pretty resilient nowadays, weren't they? And it was only an object, after all.

She had a glimpse of his smile --more of a sour and twisted grimace, actually-- and waited. Wilson didn't talk while walking away from them, didn't talk while picking up the device, didn't talk while examining it, probably looking for scratches. It wasn't until he dropped it in his lab's pocket, apparently satisfied, that he deigned to look at her.

"Despite what House likes to believe, Dr. Cameron, the world doesn't revolve around him." His tone was civil and professional, lacking the familiarity they had once shared. Those last few months had wiped out whatever friendship they ever had.

It was a shame, really. She might not agree completely with Wilson (okay, she didn't agree _a lot_ with him), but the fact that he still had House's friendship after his last fiasco was supposed to mean something. Cameron failed to understand her boss' reasons, but she respected them.

Wilson, after waiting a moment for an answer she didn't deliver, nodded and left. He did look back once, but his gaze wasn't directed at them. And it wasn't planned either, she could say, as he swiftly (and somewhat guiltily) looked away.

She turned to Chase and Foreman, wanting to know if they had noticed and grasped the meaning of it.

They had.

"There's something in there," Chase said, watching Wilson's locker as if it were about to deliver the World's Greatest Secrets.

Foreman remained silent, but his raised eyebrow said enough for him … until Chase put his hand on the handle, his purpose obvious. "I'm not snooping over Wilson's things," Foreman announced, and both his and Chase's eyes turned on Cameron, as if asking for her input.

She opened her mouth, closed it. Were they for real?

Chase rolled his eyes at her hesitation. "One of you by the door would be a great idea," he said matter-of-factly, pulling open the locker.

_All right_, Cameron thought. She made a tentative move on the exit's direction, but as expected, Foreman got there first. Losing against the other doctor didn't feel as wrong as she had expected, because … well, she was genuinely curious. And really, making it look as if diving into Wilson's personal stuff wasn't something she wanted to do seem the right thing to do.

Yet despite the thrill (to go where only House was allowed), her insides twisted and she didn't move, nervous. She wasn't afraid of Wilson … much; because really, the way he yelled at House had been more than a little unexpected. But she do was fearful as to what House would do them if he ever heard about it.

"No hairdryer," informed Chase, and Cameron found herself sharing a chuckle with her two co-workers. Chase's wink made her let go of her reservations, and finally moved closer.

There wasn't much, really. Two empty hangers, one of them partially under the black-and-grey bag resting at the bottom of the locker; a pair of tennis shoes, obviously not brand-new but well conserved, and each one with a white fuzzy sock tucked inside; a miniature tower of coins, more dimes than quarters; soap, a two-in-one shampoo & conditioner bottle, shaving gel, aftershave, cologne, an old-fashioned razor with its accompanying package of disposable blades, deodorant, moisturizing, hair mousse, toothbrush, toothpaste, mouthwash, dental floss, comb and hairbrush.

Cameron expected for Chase to make a joke at the small collection of toiletries, but he was more interested in reading the back of the bottles. All of Wilson's stuff looked expensive yet tasteful, many of the brands and shapes recognizable from when she had gone gift-shopping last December.

The sound of Foreman cleaning his throat returned them to the present. "Search his pants," he said, and Cameron's attention moved to the last two items on the locker.

Chase was the one who took the denim jeans from the shelf, carefully unfolding them and looking into the pockets. "There's nothing in there," Chase said, shrugging, and folded them again just to retrieve the gray sweatshirt. For a second, Cameron thought he was going to smell it, just as House had before, and she almost blushed.

But he handed it to her.

"You got to be kidding me," she stated, now blushing for real.

Chase rolled his eyes and thrown the thing on Cameron's direction, her instincts making her caught it, but nothing more. "Come on, you are the girl." His tone was teasing, yet Cameron could say he was also somewhat serious. "It would be weird if any of us sniffed it."

Cameron kept it at arm's distance, not bothering to hide her horrified state. "_House_ did it," she said, trying to tear down his logic.

Foreman's snort was far lauder than Chase's snicker.

"House is House," the one by the door said, "and Wilson is Wilson. He's used to having his boundaries stepped over, but only by House."

"Exactly! He's going to have my head for this." She didn't really believe it, but it was an excuse as good as any other.

Chase smiled smugly, leaning on the next locker. "No, he's not. I already told you, and I'll repeat it: you are a girl. Things between Wilson and females do not work. House might get pissed off, but he knows that in the end, they are not a threat."

"Oh-ho," Foreman chuckled now, obviously amused. "You are reading too much between lines."

Chase grinned and shrugged, his gaze turning back to Cameron, who felt like sputtering -- because he was right, in a way.

Even if House and Wilson's friendship was only that (and she wasn't so sure of it anymore), one of the most persistent PPTH's rumors said that Wilson didn't have any other male friend or close acquaintance. That he barely talked to the male part of the staff other than about hospital-related stuff. That when any guy approached the Head of Oncology with suspicious intentions, House was even harder to deal with.

'Suspicious intentions' being whatever House wanted it to be.

_Stop thinking_, Cameron ordered to herself. The fastest way to achieve such a thing was to think about something else. Like House's mystery patient. She looked at her hand, acknowledging the fact that, so far, the gray garment was their only clue.

All right, then.

It wasn't that bad. The shirt smelt lightly of detergent, with a slightly musky combination of deodorant and sweat. Not discernable _parfum pour homme_ -- Wilson had probably been getting ready to go to bed when the patient showed up at the hospital. Maybe he was already sleeping, even.

"Do we know who called Wilson in, and at what hour?" she asked. Both Chase and Foreman shook their heads in denial.

The female scent was barely there, something not overly complex but still nice on its simplicity. It triggered something in her memory, something she couldn't identify.

"Well?"

Cameron glared at the closest man. Did he expect her to have an answer just like that? "Well what?" she angrily retorted, folding the sweatshirt and putting it into the locker before closing the door. "Seriously, Chase; what do you want me to say?"

"Should we look for a female patient?" the intensivist offered, extending his hands in a placating gesture. "I mean … assuming House was right."

"Oh," she said, ashamed at her grumpiness. Then, taking a moment to evaluate his question, Cameron decided against it. "I'd say a female friend or family member, instead," she pointed. "A patient would have been changed out of their clothes, so the perfume transference is less likely."

"I think I can get that list," he said, nodding. "I've already the rooster of nurses and doctors that were on duty last night, so I'll talk to them."

There not being need to pay attention to the door anymore, Foreman was now directly facing them. "Need some help?" he offered.

Cameron remembered that he had been with House, who apparently hadn't given him a new task. "I talked with three of the donors before you called us down there," she informed him, trying to convey that she could handle it. "Talking to the rest of them should not take much time."

Foreman shrugged. Cameron didn't really believe he was trying to get to the bottom of the mystery; it was more that he didn't enjoy feeling useless.

"I didn't finish looking into the reports," Chase offered. "So, if you can handle that while I hunt down these people --"

"I'll do it. See you two in the conference room in two hours?"

"Make it one and a half," Cameron retorted, taking her notebook out and flipping through the pages until finding a list of names and phone numbers.

They left in different directions, each one already engrossed on their tasks. This was what working for House was about: the mystery, the hunt for clues, the recollection of deceptively unrelated data. So maybe this wasn't about curing a sickness, but it didn't bother her. In fact, knowing that this wasn't a life and death search was kind of refreshing.

---

"Chase, wait!"

So there she was: jogging after a co-worker and asking him to keep the elevator open again. With Foreman it didn't feel personal; he had been keeping a low profile as for lately, after all. But Chase, even if discretely, was clearly avoiding her -- or avoiding the two of them being alone, she should say.

"Thanks."

He politely nodded and kept his eyes on the doors, his gaze never meeting Cameron's. It was more than a little uncomfortable, so she closed her mouth, wondering if she should ask _the_ question.

"Oh, bloody hell," Chase muttered, so low she actually wasn't sure those had been his exact words. Then he pushed the stop button and looked directly at her. "Yes, I've read it," he stated, clearly this time.

Cameron waited but nothing more came. "And?" she encouraged him to continue.

Chase blown some air out as old trains puffed out steam -- probably not a good simile, but she wasn't in the mood to be poetic with him refusing to be straightforward.

"What do you want me to tell you, Cameron?" he asked. "You already know what the problem with your article is." He stopped her protest before it even started forming. "And if you don't know, then maybe you shouldn't have written it, in the first place."

"Just because you don't like how I write, it doesn't mean there's a problem."

Yes, she sounded bitter -- but that was only because she _was_ bitter. How dared he, an equal according to their hospital's positions, say she should or shouldn't write something?

He sighed, his eyes apologetic. "Look, I know what I am talking about. I grew up around Medical journals; hell, I _learned_ to read with them," he smiled and she smiled back, tentatively. "So yes, maybe I'm not into the subject as much as you, but it is quite clear your research is incomplete."

She nodded, looking away. That was what she had feared, from the beginning.

"You really need an oncologist to look over it," Chase continued. "After all, cancer --"

"I tried," Cameron interrupted, directing him a bemused smile. "Did you know Wilson's people refuse to get close to anything remotely related to House?"

He snorted. "I'm sure there are a collection of good reasons for it."

They remained in silence for a moment, Cameron wondering if somebody had already called security. How long had they been in there?

"Wilson is a good oncologist, you know," Chase suddenly said, startling her. "You should talk to him."

She moved forward, punching the button and making the elevator move again. "It is not easy," Cameron declared, and he nodded while the doors opened.

Foreman was waiting for them.

"Finally," he said, leading the way to the Diagnostics Department. "I don't want to face House on my own."

"What, scared?"

Foreman stopped, turning to face Chase. "What do you think?" he asked, motioning with his head on the conference's room direction, which could be seen almost clearly from their position.

On the table, a castle made of cards --with patient files instead of cards, but the idea was basically the same-- stood precariously. House was sitting by the whiteboard, chin resting on his cane's handle, an absent look announcing his mind was working at terrifying speeds.

More than usual, obviously.

"Now I know why I couldn't find most of the files," Foreman announced as they entered the room.

House did look up, but offered no explanation. "What did you find?" he asked instead.

Cameron circled the table carefully, wondering if she should take the risk and pull out a chair. She decided not to.

"The usual for a Thursday night," Foreman started, staying by the door while Chase went to the coffee machine, "the only interesting bit being three John Does admitted last night: Dr. Wilson's, a suicidal brought to the ER, and a fifty-something white male on the morgue."

"Circumcised?" House asked, his eyes suddenly bright.

"What? Who, the dead guy? I don't know."

Cameron tried to understand what was going on House's head, but the spark of interest died too fast.

"Are we looking for a Jewish?" Chase inquired. _Of course_, Cameron thought, remembering Foreman's question on the mystery patient being related to Wilson.

"Maybe, but not dead or dying," House acknowledged, but he was frowning. He then turned to Cameron. "What did the donors say?"

"None admitted being here last night," she informed, resuming the results of her quest.

Predictably, House rolled his eyes. "Of course they won't admit it," he admonished. "What did you _really_ ask them?"

Cameron paused for a moment, wondering how much she should say. She knew keeping something from her boss wasn't achievable, but still some part of her wanted to believe in the possibility. Being faced with his arched eyebrow, Cameron understood it was (more than) slightly delusional.

"I told them there was a fire on Dr. Wilson's office last night," she reluctantly admitted, and Chase sputtered his coffee. "And that, seeing how his last reports were lost, we were trying to find the patients he treated these past days."

Foreman's snort was amused, but at least he was trying to conceal it. Chase, on the other hand, was grinning like an idiot, while House looked … _pleased_.

"What did they say?" he asked, playing with his cane. Bastard. He probably will be delivering something along the lines of 'being very proud' later.

She breathed deep.

"Seven of them asked if Dr. Wilson was all right, and didn't seem to be lying when they said they hadn't been at PPTH recently."

"And the last one?" Of course he would remember there being eight donors on the list.

"She had a panic attack," Cameron recognized, embarrassed. "She started to cry and hung when I refused to put her with Dr. Wilson."

Foreman's snicker was now quite noticeable. Really, did they believe she was proud of this? It took all her willpower not to call back and tell the poor woman it was a lie. At least she had insisted on Wilson being safe and healthy when telling the story.

"So _that_ was what Cuddy was yelling about," House gleefully added.

"What?" Cameron's blood froze on her veins. She had always been ready to declare that House's methods were wrong; but usually the consequences were blamed on him and there was a life to save, so it was easy to ignore her own moral standards. However, this time she was on her own. "Is she going to fire me?"

"Nope," he quipped, getting up from his chair and starting to pace. "But she was mad at Wilson refusing multiple donations popping out of nowhere on the last hour." House uncapped a marker and wrote _'Not a sponsor'_ on the board. He turned and whispered, as if sharing a secret. "She took him to her office. I think she'll spank him for not being a good boy and pocketing the money."

Cameron flushed. A visit to the Dean of Medicine's office would be scheduled soon for her; and thanks to House, she'll probably be thinking of his lewd implications while being there.

Chase cleaned his throat.

"I have a list of patients with female visitors, but it is incomplete," he said, waving a paper sheet. "Some of these ones are too old or too young, so I think we should --"

"Why is it incomplete?" House interrupted.

"I, uh, couldn't find all the doctors and nurses from last night. Two interns and one nurse covering double turns weren't very cooperative, but I'll try later --"

House didn't seem to like the answer.

"Who was the nurse?" he demanded, taking the paper from Chase's hand and quickly scanning it.

"Brenda Previn, why --"

But House was already leaving the room.

"Bring the file of room 25," he shouted, not bothering to find out if they will follow.

But of course, they did, Foreman flipping through the file and reading it out loud while they finally catch up at the elevator. "J. J. Stuart, male, sixteen years old. He arrived at the ER last night at 10:43. Car accident, broken femur, minor cuts; there were no problems with his surgery. All his stats look normal. Are you sure this is the one we are looking for?"

House didn't answer, but returned Chase his list and motioned him to continue where Foreman had stopped.

"Room 25, J. J. Stuart. The physician in charge is Dr. Meyer, orthopedist. The principal nurse is Brenda Previn."

"So we don't know about his visitors?" Cameron asked, noticing the nurse name.

Chase shook his head. "We do. Stuart's sister, about twelve or thirteen years old; she spent the night at the hospital. Tammy pointed her to me at the cafeteria about twenty minutes ago."

"Isn't she too young?" Foreman asked, and Cameron silently agreed with him. Despite Wilson's reputation, she couldn't picture him hugging a (not sick) teenage girl.

"What, you don't think little girls can be pretty?" House enquired suggestively. Foreman scowled in disgust, and seemed about to say something nasty in retort when the elevator doors opened.

"That's her!" Chase whispered, pointing at a girl just as she entered the public restrooms.

Three pairs of eyes rested on Cameron.

"All right," she sighed, outnumbered.

The girl was washing her face when she entered the bathroom, her eyes red and puffy, probably from tears and lack of sleep. As many times when following House's instructions, Cameron's stomach felt queasy.

"Are you okay?" she asked, telling herself she genuinely wanted to help, while closing the distance trying to discover if the girl used the same perfume they had found on Wilson's shirt.

"Yes, thanks for asking." The smile was sweet and warm, and Cameron smiled back without even thinking. Apparently, this girl was one of those persons you feel like knowing even when you obviously don't.

"Are you sure?" she offered again, washing her hands very slowly. And then, when the girl nodded, she added, "Are you visiting a familiar?"

The girl nodded and closed the faucet, taking a moment to look at her reflection. "My brother was in a car accident last night," she explained later, moving to take some paper towels. "But he is fine, and my parents will be arriving soon."

"They are not in the city?"

The brown ponytail bounced when the girl shook her head. "They were on their second honeymoon." She rolled her eyes and smiled again. "So Mom will hug him, kiss him and call him her baby, but as soon as they discover he is all right, she's gonna kill him."

Cameron laughed, but she was nervous. The girl was already leaving the restroom and she had not gotten what she had been sent to look for.

"What perfume are you using?" she hurriedly asked, cringing at her own question. "I … think I recognize it from … somewhere."

The girl looked at her, curious, suspicion never showing up in her pretty features.

"I haven't put it on since yesterday evening," she declared, pushing the door. Cameron followed her outside. "One of my mother's friends gave it to me in December," she continued. "It was especially mixed to harmonize my personality traits, or something like that. Do you like it? I can give you her store address."

"Sure," Cameron said, unsure, and looking at House rapidly approaching.

"Who are you?" he inquired, looking at the girl with keen interest.

_Now_ there was suspicion on the girl's face. "Who are _you_?" she retorted, wary.

"Family friend. How's Jimmy?"

Surprised, Cameron looked how the girl's face brightened and the smile returned to her face, now open and trusting.

"He's fine, his leg is great and the doctors said he'll leave the hospital soon, two or three days max." She was guiding them back to her brother's room, Cameron noticed. Then the girl stopped and extended her hand towards House. "I'm sorry, it was not my intention to be mean. I'm Eve. Are you friend of my father?"

_Yes, House. Are you friend of her father?_ Cameron thought, sardonically, surprised when House shook the girl's (_Eve_) hand. House's curiosity, she decided, was genuinely piqued; but despite him not being mean to the teenager, the way he looked at her was a little unsettling.

"I think that can be said."

Eve nodded, apparently satisfied, and went to open Room 25's door.

"You can't go in there," a voice informed, and Cameron turned to find Nurse Brenda hurriedly catching up with them, her eyes fixed on House. "Only family and friends are allowed."

"He's a friend," Eve informed to the nurse, taking House's hand and pulling him into the room.

"I'll call security!" Brenda informed while Cameron slipped in behind her boss.

House's smile had never been smugger in her presence. "Go ahead," he said, and then closed the door on the woman's face. Suddenly, Cameron had an almost perfectly clear idea of where Foreman and Chase were, and what they were doing.

"You're Greg House?"

The new voice belonged to the kid half-sitting on the bed -- but Cameron shouldn't think of him as a kid, because he wasn't anymore. He was more of a young man, in fact, a sixteen-year old who had already started to change into his adult features as the baby fat disappeared.

And all of a sudden Cameron understood House's claim, the one of knowing Eve's father.

The hair was a little darker, as was his skin's color; but his jaw's shape … and the smile, god, it was _his_ smile. And his eyes, they were exactly the same, just as warm as _his_ sometimes were. And that was the reason why Eve had seemed so familiar, Cameron realized; because brother and sister shared the same warm brown eyes.

She had never seen a picture of a younger James Wilson, but there was no doubt in her mind these kids were related to him.

"So, are you?" he asked again, squeezing his sister's hand and looking directly at House, who said nothing and stood there, frozen and clearly taken aback.

Good. So Cameron wasn't the only one.

He recovered first, though, and scowling pulled a chair and sit on it, his eyes never leaving the boy's face and his chin resting on the cane one more time.

"Jimmy, what did you do," he mumbled, maybe just to himself, but his words were easy to hear in the room's silence.

"I wasn't even driving!" the boy retorted, trying a more straightened position and wincing in pain as the movement pulled his leg. But he didn't complain, and smiled reassuringly to his sister before continuing. "It wasn't my fault."

House looked at him and, again, said nothing. But he wasn't shocked (_not anymore_, Cameron thought), and instead appeared to be analyzing all the available data and reaching god knew what conclusions.

"Who's J. J.?" he finally asked.

The boy cringed. "That's a stupid nickname I used last year," he said. "I thought Jimmy was too childish, so …" he shrugged, and Eve smiled and rolled her eyes. "But it didn't work."

"Well, you might want to know the _other_ Jimmy is using that stupid nickname in all your charts." House threw him the file, but it fell by the bed's edge, then slipped and landed in the floor.

Eve picked it up before Cameron could. "Jimmy who?" she asked, giving the papers to her brother without even glancing at them.

"He is James' friend," the boy explained to her. He didn't look at the file either, and simply put it on the table by his bed's side. "The doctor who cures patients other doctors can't, remember?"

"You call him _James_?"

The words were out of Cameron's mouth as soon as she thought them, and Eve's smile (which had become even brighter, if such a thing was possible) changed to a curious frown.

"That's his name," she stated, as if no other answer was needed. And maybe she was right --everybody was entitled to their privacy, after all-- but Cameron wanted to hear those other answers anyway.

"Mom doesn't want us to call him Uncle," the boy called Jimmy added, but explained no more.

House's eyebrow twitched, but he didn't ask what Cameron thought he would. "And he has talked with you about old dear House?" he asked instead.

And then there it was, another gesture that made the kid even more look-alike Dr. Wilson, his eyes gleaming with mischievousness. It didn't last long, as his cheeks flushed lightly and then his gaze was fixed on his hands.

"Uh … maybe?"

Whatever he was about to add (if he was about to add anything) was interrupted by the door banging open and a slightly out of air Wilson rushing into the room. Weirdly, he seemed to pale more at finding Cameron there than he did with House.

"Your friend House came to visit," peeped out Eve, smiling at Wilson and leaving her brother's side; but it wasn't until the boy smiled at him too that the newly arrived doctor started to relax.

"Did he?" he asked while embracing the girl and glaring at House before turning his attention back to Eve. "I'm sure you've had quite an interesting conversation, but I fear I have to steal him from you. There's something we need to talk in private."

Those last words, delivered while he looked directly at House, were stressed in obviously hidden and not so hidden meaning. Wilson's face, while almost completely blank, transmitted a curious mixture of danger (which made Cameron feel almost sorry for House) and anxiousness (which made Cameron feel almost sorry for Wilson).

"Well, we didn't talk much, really," Jimmy declared, evidently oblivious of the _thing_ not being said, and taking his uncle's (_father's?_) -- and taking Dr. Wilson's words at face value. "But he can come back later, right?"

A faint ring tone was heard, and in a second Eve had fished her cell-phone out of somewhere and was scrolling down, ostensibly reading a text message.

"They are here, Mom and Dad are parking outside," she informed with glee, running to the bed and showing the screen to her brother. "And Mom almost managed to write it correctly this time."

Wilson chuckled, but almost immediately got serious and turned his attention back to House, who hadn't moved. Cameron herself didn't feel like moving; having the three of them in one room, Wilson and those two kids, felt kind of surreal.

"Don't leave them alone." It took Cameron more than a couple seconds to understand that Wilson had talked to her, and by then he was already exiting the room, with Eve by his side.

Jimmy, curiosity clear on his face, smiled at her and warily glanced in House's direction. The man remained silent, thumping his cane on the room's carpet one, two, three times. Cameron counted until ten, and then he stopped.

"Get out."

"No." She had been expecting it.

The thumping started again. This time she only counted until five.

"Get out or I tell this young man what you and Dr. Chase do in your free time." His eyes remained glued on the bed's occupant, so he couldn't see her blush. He probably didn't need to. "I'm sure he'll find it interesting."

She gulped.

"How do I know you won't tell him anyway if I leave?"

And now his eyes moved to her, pinning her down. "I have more interesting things to talk about."

Cameron hesitated. She wasn't particularly worried about how much damage House could do to her reputation. It was the fact that he had barely said a word since they entered the room what preoccupied her. He was about to do something utterly stupid.

"No." He got up from his chair, and she wondered if he would use his cane to kick her out, but continued anyway. "_You_ get out, or I tell him about Tritter."

The look on House's face would have been priceless, if not for the fact that she was trembling inside. She had managed to genuinely piss off Cuddy, House and possibly Wilson, gaining three formidable enemies in a few hours. And there were the donors, god there were the donors.

She needed to hide for the rest of the day.

House left the room without another word, but stopped the door before it got closed and kept it that way until she followed him. From the bed, the boy waved a timid goodbye. Brenda was in the corridor glaring at House -- or at House's back, really, as he hadn't stayed long.

Brenda's attention shifted to Cameron, as did the guard now by her side. She didn't know the guy's name but he had been of great help last month in the Clinic, when he handled a brawl between a patient and his boyfriend without even sweating. Now there was a cut on his lower lip and a trickle of blood in his shirt.

Maybe Chase and Foreman were in deeper shit than she was.

_To Be Continued_


End file.
